Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. Unless I get mutated into Stan Lee!
A/N: Oh my gosh, I'm alive! Actually, this isn't a delusion – I've updated, except that the chapter below is shorter than we both would like. Why? It's the interlude I mentioned in the first chapter. The purpose of this is to serve as a filler for the intended gaps in my fic, and also a teaser for the next installment. Never mind that school is also behind this, as I've got about a million things due on Monday. Now, isn't my idea grand? ;)
Please don't forget that, as time passes by, and the story progresses into something much more suited for adults, the "R" rating is implicitly stated. I'm just weird like that, being all "figurative" and not getting straight to the point – though I do hope my descriptions make sense, since my muses have gone into hibernation. If you've been observant enough, you'll see that this is a powerless AU, but the remarkable traits of Rogue and Remy's abilities will be woven into different senses of the fic. Thanks, and here's to hoping your expectations will be fulfilled:)
Shiver by melancholic
Interlude: Uncertainty and Tension
She would be a fool to not realize the number of hungry stares she was receiving; instead of saving herself or evading attack, the woman known only as Rogue decided to taunt her audience a bit more, in the hope of reversing the roles: them now acting as her willing prey, and she, the relentless predator. Ravenous mouths craved her devil red lips, relishing the poison of her apple; after she had performed a mouth duet with the most recent man who had the nerves to approach her, she dismissively pushed him aside, opening the lines for another to bask in her glow.
They were, it seemed, no different from any other rabbit that burrowed a little too far beyond the safety of the bushes, and into the lair where she was waiting. It started as subtle flirtation; she easing them into her traps, and when they fell, she made it a point to tease and tantalize them; they were aware of the consequences of playing with fire, longing for their demise like Death nurtured its victim.
As time progressed, her façade would sometimes crack – either because of the fact that these games were tiresome, predictable; she was afraid that, in the heat of the night, her being caught unwittingly off-guard would reveal a glimmer of the real Rogue – whose skin was so alluring, so addictive; fingers never seemed to grow weary of stroking the various parts of her body. But yes, as she was a living oxymoron, she was untouchable in a sense that if anybody tried to get under her skin, they'd never live to tell about the experience, suffocating voluntarily into her being.
One would wonder why a woman like Rogue, who had men plummet under her thumbs and entwined to her pinkies (without much effort, to say the least), would be so reluctant and protective of her body, whom foreign individuals swept and penetrated all the time. It was much easier to hike down to the valley below than to excavate the mountain of her soul. That was why, even though her insides were filled by her latest, unsuspecting fatality, this spider would not ever think twice after asphyxiating her prey with her coveted silken threads, plunging her fangs and devouring her partner with the lust that didn't set her soul ablaze; it was, instead, laced with pretenses disguised as passion – and, as expected, the men she was with for now bought her product so greedily and foolishly, overly-satisfied that they never forgot to extend a tip.
Rogue cringed inwardly as the man unlucky enough to fall for her (wasn't he the security guard?) planted his hands onto her breasts, touching them as though he were crushing roses as to sway clumsily and drunkenly against the fast-paced music. In a weak attempt to suppress the urge to slap the poor fellow, Rogue, in turn, gently made her hands travel down his back, gingerly dragging her fingers across his polyester suit, causing him to feel as if he were lying down on a bed of feathers. Unfortunately for him, this sensation wouldn't last forever; another player was coming to challenge him for the acquisition of his turf, and the object of their affection would undoubtedly hand her deed over to him who was definitely more worthy.
———
Remy was growing impatient; now was the time that he showed everybody that nobody, not even the finest creature roaming the planet, could ever make him wait. The reason for why patience wasn't high on Remy's list of virtues was that, especially now, he was becoming too eager, getting the necessity to go someplace private and vainly satisfy himself. But in his heart and gut, he knew that it was a stupid idea – not because it was immoral, but no matter how many times he would think of supposedly arousing thoughts to knock him out of his trance, the answer to his dilemma was so clear, he didn't even need to look thoroughly to discover it. She was what he needed; yes, the girl dancing to her own melodies on the floor, making like the club was her own playground and those who wanted to go down her slide needed to overpass the hurdling beam of the swing first.
The shot glass he was holding groaned and cracked with stress that attributed itself to his emotions – the excitement and debauchery of imagination, the frustration and impatience that came along with it, and the irritating nervousness that made itself at home in the pit of his stomach. How… why? This wasn't how it was supposed to be – he elicited this from the women he was with, them mewing and purring, their silken fur becoming more moist as they lapped up his milk – and now, he was the puppy, clambering unsuccessfully and seemingly inexperienced in this field of flowers, chasing after the butterflies that never landed on his nose.
With a resolute glance at Emil, who was romancing Trish with the passion of a bunny on crack, Remy stood up, pushing the now shattered fragments of the shot glass aside and wiping his palms, moist with perspiration, a hint of blood, and drops of tequila, on his pants, with him accidentally brushing his unsheathed sword. He felt the sharpness and straightness of the blade, wincing and becoming more desperate and determined as he hopped of his stool, and traipsed as casually as a dog in heat could over to the dance floor, his eyes shining with desire, the background music and lights mirroring his feelings.
(2) Notes: Yay, I'm so evil – I like delaying hot things, and being sadistic! Ahahaha! ;) I want to thank all those who read and reviewed, making this, apparently, my most successful story. XD
